


now it's only you that matters

by howellz



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 17:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16000130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howellz/pseuds/howellz
Summary: phil's a new public reactions manager and dan's a musician with a history of causing public reactions problems. naturally, phil's a bit scared of going on tour working with him.





	now it's only you that matters

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to starrydanny for beta reading!

At first, Phil didn’t want to go on tour with Daniel Howell in any way, whatsoever. No, thank you, he was perfectly happy not becoming anymore directly involved with _that_ mess than he already was.  

Then, he looked at his flat in London, which he didn’t really want his parents to still have to pay part of (he tried to tell them no, really, but they knew how expensive living in the city was and how much he made), and he looked at the pay raise he’d get if he took this job and well. Phil could probably survive a few months of a hot mess if it meant he would end up with the connections and experience he’d need to move up in the company and become someone _important_.

Besides, Phil didn’t hate Daniel Howell, really. His music was pretty good, actually. The issue was, of course, that he could never keep his mouth shut for five minutes, and he was kind of a PR nightmare. Which, as Daniel Howell’s future public relations manager for the coming months on tour, was kind of Phil’s… issue with the guy.

Sometimes it felt like Daniel never went a week without having some kind of very public drama with another celebrity or company or show or _anyone_ . He was literally a public relations disaster. He had a very dedicated, very large fan base that tended to stick with him no matter what he said, but explaining his actions to the part of the world that _didn’t_ have a Daniel Howell stan twitter account? Not always the easiest thing.

So, this was going to be an experience, to say the least. But in a few months he’d be home with a paycheck and, most likely, a nice promotion. Besides, he wasn’t on his own. He’d be working with Daniel’s manager, Marianne, and probably half-working as her assistant, as she normally helped with Daniel’s public image when she wasn’t busy arranging a tour. So, it couldn’t be that bad. (Right?)

Phil’s met Daniel before, briefly, just because the management and publicity company he works for often works with Daniel’s label. But it was quick and forgettable. They don’t end up being properly introduced until one hour before Daniel’s supposed to go on at his first show. It’s the beginning of the first European leg of the world tour, and they’re starting off in Daniel’s hometown, London.

An assistant at the venue leads Phil backstage, where he’s met with a complete bustle of activity and noise. Apparently, a Daniel Howell show is not a simple event, not that Phil would expect it to be. He wonders, for a second, who had the brilliant idea for him to make his first appearance _now_ , when he’s sure the last thing on anyone’s mind is the new publicist, but then spots Daniel coming across the room, and moves to intercept him.

“Hey, nice to meet you,” Phil says, “I’m Phil, I’m-”

“Oh, yeah, Marianne told me you’d be coming on today. Call me Dan,” Dan says, very fast, and then he’s whisked away by, presumably, a makeup artist getting him ready for the show. Phil barely has time to blink, and he’s gone.

Well. That was fast, but not entirely unexpected based on what he would guess the life of a pop star headlining a world tour would be. Honestly, if this is what Dan’s life is like, it’s a wonder he has time to start drama at all.

“Oh, did you just meet Dan? You’re the new PR guy, right?” a younger guy, probably a roadie, asks, coming up to Phil after putting down a box to his side.

“Yeah,” he says, shaking the guy’s hand, “Phil.”

“John,” he says, and then chuckles a little. “Just wanted to let you know that we’re not all rude, we’re just really busy right now. If you couldn’t tell.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Phil says. “I get it. I’m sure I’ll get to know you all over the next few months.”

“You will, don’t worry. And that goes for Dan, too, I don’t want you to think he’s a total jerk - he’s actually really down-to-earth and nice to all of us.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure,” Phil says, “Thanks.”

Another man waves in John’s direction, and the man gives an apologetic smile to Phil. “I gotta go. But welcome aboard, mate. I know we probably won’t be working together, but, y’know, just didn’t want to leave you hanging.”

“I appreciate it, man,” Phil says, and the guy jogs away. So, the crew’s nice, at least. Good to know if he needs a friend once they’re in another country, but that part about Dan… honestly.

Phil doesn’t think Dan’s a jerk, but down-to-earth? Really? There’s no way a guy who constantly misuses a Twitter account with 25 million followers is down-to-earth, but okay. Maybe the tour solely hires Daniel Howell fans, because what Phil heard just now seems… unlikely.

(It doesn’t take more than four hours for Phil to be proven wrong.)

Dan goes on stage in what feels like no time, and the activity backstage slows down a bit once the show starts, so Phil finds a quiet place to sit down and check his phone for oh, just the next hour or two. Privately, he hopes that a lot of this job will go like this. Getting paid to sit on his phone and hear pieces of an admittedly good show through the wall? Not the worst way to spend his time.

He’s still sitting off to himself, texting his brother about a show they’re both watching, when Marianne comes to find him.

“It’ll end soon,” she says, gesturing vaguely towards the stage. “I’m thinking you, me, and Dan could have dinner together? Pizza okay? Earlier probably wasn’t the best time for introductions, and we should start talking logistics before we get on the road.”

“Sure, that sounds fine,” Phil says. He’s expecting, naturally, for this to mean that after Dan gets offstage they’ll head to a local pizzeria and have a nice, professional business talk before Marianne and Dan head off to wherever they go, and Phil goes to well, wherever he goes. He’s not really sure, actually, but he’d assume he’s on a bus with some of the crew. Hopefully. If Phil was supposed to make his own travel arrangements for the European part of the tour, he definitely didn’t.

That doesn’t end up being an issue, however, because apparently Phil is staying with Dan and Marianne on their bus, along with one or two other people from tour management. The tour, just based on what dates worked best for most venues, is broken into a first European leg, an Australia/Asia leg, a second European leg, and, finally, an American leg. Phil will apparently be receiving flight accommodations similar to Dan and Marianne’s for travel to the other countries as well, and he can’t lie, the perks of being management on this tour are definitely better than he expected. Definitely better than he’d be receiving if he hadn’t taken the job.

Contrary to Phil’s expectations of a professional dinner at a local restaurant, he finds himself sitting cross-legged on a too-small bus couch across from Dan Howell, who’s changed into pajama sweatpants, eating delivery pizza from paper plates.

It’s a pretty weird experience, to be honest. Both Dan and Marianne aren’t really interacting with him, and Phil supposes he’ll have to get used to silently existing with these people over the next couple of months, but it’s still… strange.

He’s about to make an excuse to go call his mom or something when Marianne finally puts down her phone, and pauses her conversation with whoever she had been furiously texting.

“Okay, Phil,” she says. “So, you already kind of know what your specific jobs are going to be, right?”

Phil does not. Phil very vaguely knows he is here and he has a job and that he will be living with a man who, according to his Twitter, is potentially unhinged.

“Yes,” Phil says, like a liar, and then, like a dumbass, adds, “But, uh, can you go over it? Just so we’re clear.”

Dan smirks at him, and Phil wonders if Dan will tweet something about his weird new PR manager later tonight.

“Okay,” Marianne says. “So, I’m going to have to be focusing on arranging venue information and meet and greet information and set transportation and working out any logistical issues, so you’re basically just going to have to help me out with public relations stuff. Basically arranging interviews, performances on shows, stuff like that.”

Next to Phil, Dan rolls his eyes. “And censoring me online.”

Marianne sighs. “It’s not censorship, Dan. We’ve gone over this.”

Phil thinks Dan looks like he wants to argue this, but he just takes another slice of pizza and rolls his eyes again, so Marianne continues. “But yes, Phil, if there needs to be… damage control done, that will tend to be your job as well. Of course, we might end up working together on some stuff, especially if I need help with arranging something on a slow day for you, but mostly. That’s it for you. Think you can handle that?”

Phil nods. “Yeah, sounds good.”

“Good,” Marianne says, “Because we’re pulling out for the next show in an hour so you’re kind of stuck.” Her phone buzzes violently, and she smiles apologetically. “Sorry, I need to deal with this. Thanks again for joining us, Phil.”

“No problem,” he says, politely, and she leaves towards the front of the bus to make a call.

Phil looks at Dan and says, “You know, I’ll try not to really censor you or anything. I won’t do any more than I’m required to.”

Dan shrugs. “You kind of will. It’s alright, not your fault, man. It’s your job.”

“I…” Phil starts, and then stops, because for as much as he thought Dan was kind of an asshole, now Phil feels like one. It takes him a moment to put it in prescriptive - this _is_ his job, and Dan is an _adult man_ who should know what’s appropriate to say when you exist in the spotlight and what isn’t.

But in that second, before Phil can respond, Dan stands up, and shrugs. “I’m gonna turn in to my bunk. See you in the morning.”

With that, he sends a half-hearted smile to Phil, and then he’s gone.

—

The beginning of the tour is fairly boring. Phil books Dan for a spot on a radio program, an interview with a music magazine, and arranges a photoshoot for new promotional posters. He also forces Dan to take down a sleep deprived Instagram story that dropped his exact location, and has to convince the editor of the magazine that the loud phone conversation Dan had in their building where he called himself “currently more interested in cheese fries than in playing a show” _was_ off the record and was _not_ a serious statement.

In fairness, it’s not all that stressful work. He usually has at least an hour of free time to explore wherever they are on a certain day, and everyone he’s met has been pretty friendly. It’s all going well - or at least it is until Paris.

In Paris, one hour before Dan is set to perform, Phil’s phone buzzes with a Twitter notification. He’d put Dan on notifs the day he took the job, in case of, well, something like this.

Dan had retweeted a thread exposing homophobic comments made by a well known American rap artist, and then made a tweet of his own, explaining why the comments were hurtful, and then directly called the guy a piece of shit and said his most recent album sucked anyways.

A well known American rap artist, who happened to also be signed to the same recording label as Daniel Howell. Fucking hell.

Immediately, Phil’s phone buzzes with one, two, three incoming texts from Marianne. All basically saying variations of “ _jfc please fix this._ ”

He texts back “ _got it_ ” and braces himself, taking a deep breath and heading towards the dressing room where he knows Dan is. He knocks on the door, and Dan calls back.

“Yeah?”

He doesn’t sound too pissed off, thank God, because Phil doesn’t know what to really expect but he sure hopes he’s not going to be the next recipient of Dan’s anger. This job may be better than his old one, but he’s not sure if it really pays enough to excuse getting yelled at.

“It’s Phil,” he calls back. “I’m gonna come in.”

There’s still a door separating them, but Dan’s exaggerated sigh is loud enough that they might as well have been right next to each other.

“Ugh,” Dan says (flattering, really), and, then, “Fine. Ugh. I guess you’re not gonna go away so. Might as well let yourself in.”

Phil opens the door, slowly, because he’s still a bit frightened, but Dan’s not waiting on the other side to start a fight. Instead, he’s sitting on the other side of the dressing room, messing with his hair absently and just looking… tired.

Phil closes the door, and sits down on the couch across from Dan. “You have to delete those tweets.”

Dan doesn’t look surprised, and why would he? They both knew why Phil was here. “I know,” Dan says.

“I’m sorry,” Phil tries, “You know you can’t have stuff like that on your profile. But I am sorry that I have to make you delete it.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Not your fault, Phil. I’ve been having people who aren’t me decide what I get to say since the day I got big. It’s whatever.”

“Oh, uh,” Phil says, smartly. Is Dan trying to guilt Phil out of making him do this? Because he doesn’t feel all that swayed, to be honest. Yeah, he gets it. He wouldn’t want some guy he only vaguely knew telling him to delete any controversial tweets off his Twitter either. But they both know it has to happen. “I’m still sorry, I guess. But you have to. I’m not gonna lose my job by messing up the very first time I ask you to delete something.”

Dan smiles ruefully, and holds up his phone. “No, really, don’t worry about it. I deleted it when you knocked.”

Phil’s ashamed to say that he doesn’t know whether or not to believe him. Why would Dan lie, really, when he knows Phil can just check his Twitter, but also - this doesn’t really fit the image of Daniel Howell that Phil had created, back when he first got the job and imagined how this inevitable scenario would play out.

Maybe he should stop trying to reconcile this Dan with the Dan he imagined.

Maybe in the beginning, Dan would get angry when he had to censor himself online, and after all this time he’s worn himself down. Or maybe not. Maybe he’s always been quietly resigned to tweeting whatever bold opinions he has, as though his platform has no consequence, and then being forced to delete his words. Phil can’t know, either way.

He has to ask. “Why do you even tweet stuff like that? If you already know it’s gonna cause issues, and you’ll have to delete it.”

Dan looks at him, and says, “Because I think someone with my following has to, and no one else will. People can’t just say shit, and get away with it. And I know my fans want to call people out, too, but I’m the only one willing to do it that actually will get attention for it.” He sighs. “I know I’m not allowed to pick fights online, and that I have to delete stuff, but I think it’s important for people to know where I stand.”

Phil doesn’t know what to say. He can… respect that, actually. That’s actually really fucking inspiring. As a PR manager, it’s still an awful idea and a bad mentality for dealing with other people’s negativity, but as someone who’s been a fan of artists before? That’s the kind of mentality he would have respected, if Dan was public about the motivation behind some of his drama.

“Okay,” Phil says, nodding, “I respect that. I mean. I’d still prefer if you stopped. It would make my job a lot easier… but…”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “I get it. It’s your job.”

“I do think you have good reasoning,” Phil says. “You do know that you could limit it to just the ‘what you said was shitty’ tweets and stop the ‘you’re shitty, too’ tweets, right? Might make my job a bit easier.”

Dan laughs a bit, which Phil takes as a ‘definitely not.’ “Yeah, if I’m gonna tweet stuff I’m not supposed to, I’m going all out, sorry buddy.”

Phil shakes his head, unsurprised, but he smiles at Dan. “Look, I get it, okay? I get what you want to be able to do, and why you want to say what you want.”

“But…” Dan says, and Phil nods.

“But just limit it, maybe? Don’t do anything too bad while you’re on tour or Marianne’s gonna kill me. Or you.”

Dan laughs. “No promises.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else.”

He pulls out his phone, and unlocks the screen. It’s still open to Dan’s Twitter, but when he refreshes the page, the latest tweets have already been deleted, just like Dan said. Of course, they’ll still exist in screenshots, but that’s what Dan wants. The incriminating tweets will exist forever for his fans, but for the rest of the world, they’ll be forgotten in a week.

(At which point Dan will probably give them something new to talk about.)

“Is that all?” Dan asks. “I have to finish getting ready.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, and he hesitates, before adding, “For what it’s worth, I agree with your tweets. You _were_ right.”

Dan looks a bit surprised, and Phil tries not to feel a bit offended by that, but all he says in response is, “Thanks.”

Phil leaves the room feeling like maybe, they understand each other a bit better now. And perhaps this trip won’t be quite as hard as he expected, and maybe Dan won’t get into as much ‘trouble’ as everyone seems to expect, now that they seem to be on the same page.

It’s possible he’s being too optimistic, but he’s hopeful nonetheless.

—

He remains optimistic for another two weeks, during which the first European leg wraps up and they head out to start the next part of the tour. With the plane flights and planning and rehearsals and constant interviews, all of them, including Dan, are too busy to think about doing anything particularly out there.

The first three shows overseas go seamlessly. He doesn’t want to jinx anything, but even Marianne seems shocked by how well everything has gone. No venue issues, no set problems, no trouble with the crew or Dan or anyone.

Then, they have a free night the day before the show in Tokyo.

Phil’s planning on just walking around the city - he’s never been before - but he gets a call from Marianne almost immediately after he leaves the hotel they’ve checked into for the night.

“Hello?”

“I need you to stay with Dan tonight,” she says.

“Huh?”

“Look, apparently the girl who’s supposed to open for him tonight and for the next few shows? She’s apparently said some pretty racist things and Dan’s fans just found out.”

“Does Dan know?”

“Not yet,” Marianne says, “But I’m worried he’ll say something if he does, and we can’t have that.”

“Are you going to do something about it?” Phil asks. He can’t distract Dan forever, right?

“Yes,” Marianne says. “We’re going to continue the tour without her. However, we’re going to handle it very professionally, and very subtly, and we’re not going to make a big deal out of it. Got it?”

“Yes,” Phil says, and, secretly, he’s pleased with the response. He thinks Dan would be too, honestly, because it’s more than he would hope for from a lot of touring musicians, to dismiss an opening act because of allegations against them. But if Marianne says Dan can’t know about any of it yet, then he won’t let on. “So you just want me to distract him?”

“You got it,” she replies. “I’ll text you when we’re done working stuff out, okay? Just for now. Don’t let him comment.”

With that, she hangs up, and Phil’s left to turn back around into the building he just left, and knock on Dan’s door once again.

When he opens it, Phil tries to look less like he’s hiding something and more like a friend. “You want to get dinner?” He asks.

Dan looks rightfully confused. Phil would be, too, if a coworker he didn’t hang out with socially asked him to get dinner in another country together. “Um,” Dan says.

“Come on,” Phil says. “You don’t have other plans, do you?”

Dan looks like he did, in fact, have plans, and those plans were to spend the night away from anyone on his management team. But Phil’s counting on politeness to force Dan into accepting the invitation, and, sure enough, Dan reluctantly says, “I guess not.”

“Okay, then!” Phil says, as cheerfully as he can manage. It only serves to make Dan look a bit more dead inside. “Let’s go get dinner somewhere, okay? Anything in particular you want?”

“Uh, no,” Dan says, as expected.

So they end up ducking into the first decently private (but still not overly expensive) looking restaurant Phil finds. They’re seated, and then. It gets awkward.

Phil’s job is to manage this guy. It’s not, no matter how nice or talented Dan could and may as well be, to make friends with him. So yeah, he’s at a private dinner with the guy and he has no idea how to make small talk with him. What do you say, anyways? Is Phil supposed to bring up the weather with a guy he’s been with for over a month?

“So!” he ends up saying, brightly, hoping that Dan will take pity on him and make conversation. He does not.

“So,” Dan says.

“How are you?” Phil asks, politely.

“Oh, I could be better,” Dan says.

Phil’s surprised he got more than a “fine,” to be honest. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Dan says, and he raises his eyebrows in a way that Phil just   _knows_ can’t be good. Phil shouldn’t be surprised, but he still kind of is, when Dan finishes his statement, adding, “I could be in my bed, watching Netflix right now, and you’ve taken me out to a dinner you’re probably going to want me to pay for, just so you can secretly keep me off my phone for a few hours.”

Phil. Just blinks and looks at him. “I’m sorry?” he offers.

God, how did Dan figure that out so _quick_? He assumed that Dan would find out later but, hell, it had only been twenty minutes. “How do you even know that? Already?”

Dan smirks. “I was spending my night hanging out alone, and you figured what? That I was taking a social media hiatus?”

Fuck. Did that mean-

“No,” Dan says, before Phil can say anything. “I didn’t post anything or say anything. Maybe I would’ve if you didn’t come get me, but I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not totally dumb, you know,” Dan says, and he rolls his eyes. “If you’re coming to temporarily distract me, that means there’s gonna be a solution sooner rather than later. You can’t distract me forever.”

“You’re right,” Phil admits. “Marianne’s working on it. We’re removing her from the tour.”

“That’s great,” Dan says. “I don’t have any problem with that. You guys could have like… told me, though.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil says. “You know I’m still kind of new at this. I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

Dan signs, again, and says, “I know. I know that it’s your job. It’s fine. Besides, even if you had told me you had no guarantee I’d be satisfied with this, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Phil agrees. “I feel like we’ve already had this conversation. Are you always like this with your PR managers?”

Dan laughs. “I think you’re the first proper PR manager I’ve had, aren’t you? I can’t really say. Are your clients always this overdramatic about your existence as their manager?”

“Well, at least you’re self aware,” Phil says, and Dan laughs again in response, so Phil assumes they’re making progress. “And I can’t really say either. You’re the first proper individual client I’ve had to work with.”

“Huh,” Dan says. “So we’re just doomed to both like being lowkey messes about this, huh?”

“You know, if you would just agree once and for all not to tweet anything too bold we wouldn’t have this issue in the first place,” Phil suggests, not for the first time, but he doesn’t even need to wait to hear Dan’s response. “But if you really can’t, we should just set some ground rules maybe? To make our lives a bit easier?”

“Okay,” Dan says. “Maybe we should’ve done that a few week ago, honestly.”  
“Better late than never!” Phil says. “Alright, so, I won’t be sneaky with you, okay? I’ll be upfront about what we’re doing.”  
“Sounds good,” Dan says. “And if you really can’t have me post anything about something, call me immediately and I’ll listen. And you already know that I’m usually willing to delete stuff eventually. That good with you?”

“Alright, that sounds fair,” Phil says, because it’s honestly more than he expected. Dan might still be overdramatic at times and fully aware that he posts stuff he shouldn’t, but Phil was learning that, somehow, he was still very reasonable and respectful about it. It was nice.

“So, this is the last time we’re going to have a conversation like this, right?” Dan asks. “We’re on the same page?”  
“I believe we are,” he replies. “Let’s maybe not be too public about being on the same page, though. I think I’m not supposed to just give in to letting you tweet whatever you want as long as you promise to delete it later. I think that might be way more of a push-over than I want to seem when I’m on my first big job.”

“Got it,” Dan says. “So I’m guessing that means we won’t be cutting this dinner short and heading our separate ways?”  
“Not unless you _really_ want to. Then I guess I can’t stop you. But, ideally, no.”  
Dan chuckles. “I’m sure I can survive a couple more hours. We better do something interesting, though. If you want us to sit around and talk about public relations and my image or some shit for the rest of the night than I’m going back, sorry.”

“Okay,” Phil says. Yes, overdramatic, but again, not unexpected. He’s, surprisingly, learning to understand that Dan’s just like this. And it’s not that awful, to be honest. “Challenge accepted. Nothing boring or public relations related from now until tomorrow.”

True to his word, for the rest of the dinner they don’t talk about anything work related at all. Or, at least, related to Phil’s work. They do talk about Dan’s shows, and about what he’s planning for a potential next album in the works, and about a few of their favorite stops so far on the tour - it’s a bit hard not to talk about Dan’s work when it’s kind of their whole lives at the moment.

But the dinner is almost nice, actually. Once they don’t talk about Dan’s image or his social media, Dan is kind of a fun guy to hang out with. He has a sense of humor, and he seems to genuinely want to be nice to Phil, even considering the fact that he would be within his rights to not be thrilled at this forced interaction.

When they finally pay the check (and Phil does pay, despite Dan’s earlier comments), it’s a good hour and a half later, and Phil fully expects Dan to make his excuses and head back to the hotel for the night. But instead, Dan doesn’t miss a beat after they leave the restaurant before he asks, “So, what next?”

Phil’s sure he must look a bit… thrown, to say the least. Dan just rolls his eyes at him, and says, “God, you were supposed to stay with me all night and you didn’t have any plans past two hours at dinner? That’s kind of sad, Phil.”

“I’ve never been to Japan before!” Phil protests. “How am I supposed to know what else there is to do!”

“Google is your friend, Phil,” Dan says.

“You’re the worst,” he responds, but he’s smiling despite himself. He looks up ‘things to do in tokyo,’ and Google (a friend, indeed) points them to towards a ferris wheel in Tokyo Bay.

They talk more along the way - Phil tells Dan about his family, which he’s close to, and Dan talks about the dog he wants to get someday, which sounds amazing, and by the time they’re sitting on the wheel together, Phil feels like he’s hanging out with a friend, more than hanging out with an awkward coworker.

Amazingly, by the time they’re heading off, Phil doesn’t even feel like there’s awkward silence between them anymore. When they stand outside the hotel, about to go their separate ways, Phil could say goodnight. Instead, he says, “Did you know that ferris wheel was, in 1999, the world’s tallest ferris wheel? This could’ve been pretty cool in 1999.”

Dan laughs. “Do you just know that?”

“Of course not,” Phil says. “Google is your friend.”

Dan laughs, again, and it makes Phil feel like he has butterflies in his stomach, just a little bit, and then Dan says, “I think it was pretty fun, anyways. Even if it’s not 1999.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, smiling. “I don’t think it was that bad.”

“Definitely not.”

Dan turns to leave, then turns back and says, “We should hang out again sometime. You know, when we have free time or whatever. If you want.”  
“Definitely,” Phil says, and, stupidly enough, he doesn’t stop smiling until he gets back up to his hotel room.

(When Marianne calls later to check in, he says that he thinks the night _definitely_ went well.)

—

The tour seems a little bit more exciting after that.

For starters, it’s easier to do his job now, obviously. But on top of that, it becomes an unspoken agreement that they hang out whenever they’re both free at the same time.

It’s more fun hanging out with one friend than a large group of people who, while lovely, don't know him all that well. With every free night that he hangs out with Dan, Phil finds himself unexpectedly growing closer to him.

It’s not a friendship that Phil expected to get out of this tour. But it’s one he’s loving anyways.

It doesn’t feel like long before being Dan’s PR manager doesn’t even feel like work anymore. It feels more like being the responsible mom friend to someone very overly impulsive. (Not that he’d want to think of himself as Dan’s mom. Because. Yeah. No.)

Basically, every week on the tour ends up being better than he expected with Dan.

They go to Manila, and him and Dan surprisingly discover they have a similar taste in TV shows, and end up watching Netflix together on Dan’s laptop all night. In Singapore, Marianne needs Phil’s help with a meet and greet issue, and Dan entertains him by texting him memes for a solid hour. In Hong Kong, Dan sends him a playlist of song recommendations, which is almost the sweetest thing a man has ever done for Phil until he gets ten minutes in and figures out that for as weirdly cute as Dan is, he doesn’t have the best taste in music. (He listens to it anyways, though).

In Melbourne, they have an early flight the day of a show, and everyone is dead on their feet by the time Dan’s only about to start his performance. It’s only to be expected that, half asleep after the show, Dan tweets his list of the three worst albums so far of the year. (When Phil goes up to Dan’s hotel room to tell him to delete it, Dan admits that he actually meant to text it to Phil. It’s after midnight, and they’re both jet lagged, and they end up falling asleep in Dan’s room together after Phil’s too lazy to head back to his room. And he’s getting _paid_ for this?)

In Sydney, Dan’s supposed to do an interview for a radio station and he lets Phil tag along. They ask why, and Phil says it’s because he needs to be there in case Dan accidentally ‘says too much about his next album,’ but really, it’s just so they can save time and leave together to go get lunch. When Marianne calls later to see where he is, he says he’s already with Dan and hopes that maybe she’ll think he’s being proactive on the job. She mostly seems amused, so he decides not to think too much about that.

They sit next to each other on the plane ride back to Europe, and Phil finally gets around to asking why there’s two European legs of the tour anyways (apparently it’s because of scheduling issues, but Dan thinks it’s excessive, too), and they watch a movie sitting together and both laugh at all the same funny parts and both _don’t_ laugh at all the others.

In Glasgow, Phil trips over some equipment getting set up and ends up scraping open his knee. Dan almost misses soundcheck in checking up on him, despite the fact that no one in recorded history has ever had a fatal scraped knee, and the attention makes Phil feel a bit more lightheaded than the actual injury did - at least, until he has to make Dan _delete_ that picture of the bloody knee from his Instagram story, because nobody wants to see that, what the _fuck_ , Dan.

In Stockholm, they get dinner together again, similar to the first night they met, and Dan posts a photo of them together on his Instagram. In regards to public relations, it’s fine, but in regards to Phil’s account, which suddenly gains 5,000 followers overnight, it’s overwhelming.

In Amsterdam, Dan leaks his own new song because he’s too impatient to let it come out in a week on its own, and besides, he’s already played it live anyways. Phil makes him take it down, but he tells Marianne he was at dinner with the crew so Dan gets an extra twenty minutes of leeway. It’s not true, but he just doesn’t want to ruin Dan’s fun _too_ fast. (Dan also tweets ‘fuck donald trump’ while they’re there, but both Phil and Marianne let him get away with that one).

In Zurich, one week from the end of the tour, Dan and Phil are more inseparable than ever before. Phil, at Marianne’s request but to no resistance from Dan, takes her place in organizing the line for the meet and greet. A few of the fans recognize him, which is ridiculously strange, considering he’s not a celebrity of any kind, other than being friends with, and he even catches one or two taking photos of him.

But mostly, being there just makes him appreciate Dan even more. He’s visibly kind to every fan that comes up to him, and he doesn’t just make them take one photo and leave, like Phil knows some bigger artists do. He actually talks to them, and it makes Phil’s heartache to watch.

He knows he’s come a long way from his initial assumptions. But at this point, he’s just worried about how things will change once the tour ends, and they go back to their separate lives. He’s gotten used to seeing Dan everyday, and once he doesn’t work for him anymore, he’s going to miss it.

On the final show of the tour, Phil’s allowed to sit on the side of the stage and watch the show there. Alone, hidden from the crowd yet still standing above the thousands of screaming fans and lights and noise, he feels completely, utterly, full of awe for what he never expected to end up being this important to him.

It’s weird, how someone can become so important to you in such a short amount of time. Even if you didn’t grow up together, or share the same job, or even have much time spent knowing each other in comparison to most friendships. They can still mean a weird amount  to you, as though they’re a bigger part of your life than they technically are.

Phil wants Dan to be a bigger part of his life than he technically is.

They all get drinks together to celebrate after the final show ends, but it’s hardly any time before they have to drive back to London. The tour is technically done, but everyone doesn’t officially go their separate ways until they make it back to the city where the tour began, months earlier.

In the morning, standing with his luggage in a parking lot near a train station, where the bus has left them for good, he says goodbye to the people he met on tour. There’s some people, of course, that he never had the chance to really get to know over the time they all spent together, but some of the crew say goodbye fondly, wish him luck on his next job.

(That’s a bit crazy to think about. Yeah, he took this job as a means to eventually get another, but there’s something about leaving everything behind to travel the world that makes the thought of getting another job feel secondary.)

Marianne wishes Phil luck in the future as well, and reminds him to call her if he ever needs a reference. It’s a nice gesture, really, considering he’s spent the last few weeks of his job doing more ‘hanging out with the client’ and less ‘actual working.’ All the same, he appreciates it. It had genuinely been a lovely work environment.

Eventually, it’s only Dan left.

“So,” Dan says.

“So.”

“I’m really glad you came along on this tour,” Dan says, and Phil smiles.

“Me too.”

“Even though you didn’t know how to deal with me at first? Still worth it?”

Dan’s teasing, but Phil’s tired, and a bit emotional from it being the _end_ , so his voice comes out a bit too serious when he replies. “You know it was,” he says, and Dan looks, for a second, a bit caught up by it.

They look at each other for another moment, and Phil prepares himself for this to be it. They’ll say their goodbyes, and they’ll probably still text a bit and maybe meet up once or twice, but things won’t be like they were anymore.

Phil braces himself, and says, “Well, I guess this is it, then.”  
At the same time, Dan says, real fast, “Would you want to go out some time?”

Phil blinks. “Wait, what?”

“Would you want to go out sometime?” Dan repeats, so apparently Phil did hear that right the first time. “You do live in London, right? I thought you said you did. I just figured, because we don’t work together anymore - If you don’t want to, that’s fine, too, obviously-”

Phil cuts him off. “Of course, yeah. Yeah. I live in London. We should - we should go out some time, then.”

“Oh. Okay. Um, good,” Dan says, and it makes Phil smile, because of course they’d be awkward and messy even about this, but it feels right.

It feels like, at the end of the tour, the start of something else that could be even better. And Phil can’t wait to see how it turns out.

(And to think, originally he didn’t want to go on tour with him.)

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi @howellz on tumblr!


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